The Rebel Wife Read online

  “Why’d he do that?”

  Gripes. Why was talking to her so easy? He’d confided more to her than he’d spoken of in years. Buying time, he gathered his pie and tea. “Let’s sit on the settee where we’ll be more comfortable.”

  She glanced at his closed journal. “I didn’t mean to take you away from your work.”

  You are my work, in more ways than one. “I’m finished for now. Pour yourself a cup of tea and join me.”

  She wagged her head. “I had lemonade and pie earlier. I’m full up.”

  “Then just sit for a while. I’d appreciate the company.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  What he wanted was her lips on his, soft and pliable and showing him how much she desired him. But that wasn’t going to happen. She’d made her feelings quite plain.

  He sat on the sofa, and she settled in the chair across from him. She treated him to a sweet smile. “So, we were talking about your granddaddy.”

  “Were we?” He placed his teacup on the end table, then balancing the pie plate on one knee, forked up a healthy helping, stalling for time as he chewed. How much about his quarrel with Grandfather did he really want to divulge? He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily.

  He poked at the flaky piecrust dripping with cream. “This is good. Haven’t had pie topped with cream in a long time.”

  “It was my suggestion.”

  “And a good suggestion it was.” He forked up another bite and moaned in contentment. His two favorite pleasures in one night. Apple pie and Kitty Carleton. What could be better?

  “About your granddaddy...”

  She wasn’t going to give up. “Yes..?”

  “Why’d he cut off your allowance?”

  Maybe she ought to know the particulars, especially if the old man refused his request for a loan and caused further delays to their trip. “Just after the War started, I had an offer from The Herald to write first-hand about the fighting. It was a golden opportunity...a chance to get my name known outside of Baltimore.”

  “I wondered why you chose to be a newspaperman,” she waved a hand, “when you could’ve enjoyed the easy life.”

  “I wanted to be recognized on my own merit, not as Elias Porter’s grandson. After living under his shadow for most of my life, I was ready to become my own man, a successful and sought-after journalist.”

  He finished off the last bite of pie and swapped the empty plate for the teacup. A few sips of tea soothed a throat gone dry as a summer field. He usually kept his deepest desires well-guarded. To speak them aloud felt like he was stripping himself naked.

  “At the time,” he continued. “I thought traveling with the Army would be a grand adventure.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Not to Grandfather. It angered him that I wanted to leave a steady, safe job at the local paper. Said traveling with the Army was too dangerous. We argued. He finally told me to go and write about the War. But don’t expect him to pay for it.” Even now, his blood bubbled at his grandsire’s high-handedness.

  “Seems to me, he was worried about you.” She rose and gathered his plate. “Would you like more tea?”

  “No, that was plenty, thank you.”

  She crossed to the desk and placed the dish on the tray. Instead of returning, she wandered past the bookcases, trailing a finger along the spines as she walked. “You know, as much as your granddaddy’s prying annoyed me, I understood he was only looking out for your best interests.”

  “Let’s hope that looking out for includes giving me the loan I asked for.”

  “Loan?”

  “To get us to Elmira. Having my wallet stolen has put me short on funds.”

  She skirted the table and returned to the settee. “That must’ve hurt.”

  “What?”

  “Swallowing that massive pride of yours to ask for help.” She folded herself beside him and rested a hand on his forearm. “Don’t worry. I suspect he’d give you anything you ask for. It’s obvious how much he cares about you.”

  Who was reassuring whom? “He sure has a strange way of showing it.”

  “Some folks aren’t good at saying how they feel.”

  “Unlike you.”

  Pink stained her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “I’m sorry if I caused you any pain earlier in the garden. It wasn’t my intention.”

  “No. No. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He set the tea cup on the end table, then shifted to get a better view around his nuisance of an eye. “From the beginning, you made it clear our relationship would be business only. I crossed the line and shouldn’t have. Please forgive my churlish behavior when you...er...called me on it.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You were upset with your granddaddy and not in your right mind.”

  And he still wasn’t. He couldn’t seem to get the taste of her lips out of his head. “It was inexcusable. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I want to make it up to you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do.” He scratched his chin, his mind whirling with possibilities. “What did you do for entertainment at Spivey Point?”

  “Entertainment?”

  “Fun. What did you do for pleasure before the War? Dancing? Games?”

  “Work kept us busy most of the time, but we did have an occasional barn dance. Not as fancy as the Lawrence cotillions, but we had fun. As to games, we played checkers and mumblety-peg...”

  Mumblety-peg. He chuckled. “Why am I not surprised you played a game of knives?”

  “I usually won, too.”

  “Again, not surprised. What else?”

  A gleam lit her eyes. “Riding. I used to sneak into the back pasture and climb on one of Mr. Lawrence’s racehorses. Those beauties sure could run. I’d imagine I was a jockey, riding at the Richmond racetrack.”

  “Did you win?”

  “Of course. Everyone wants to win.”

  “Sometimes losing is more advantageous.” Like yielding to a knife-wielding Rebel and finding out she’s the one woman you could learn to love.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” He stood and crossed to the bookshelves, an idea percolating. “So, horse racing interests you, does it?”

  “Very much. It’s so fun and exciting. Papa once let me bet on a race at the track. Naturally, I picked the winner.”

  “Naturally.” Smiling at her bravado, he ran a finger down the spines until he reached the one he wanted. He plucked the book from its slot and returned to the sofa.

  “Silk and Scarlet.” He held out the book to her. “One of Henry Dixon’s better works on racehorses.”

  She eyed his hand as if he held a snake. “It’s a book.”

  “Yes. And a very good one.”

  She looked up, her wounded gaze digging holes in him. “I told you I can’t read very well. Don’t you remember?”

  “I remember. But I want to help change that.”

  “How?”

  “By showing you how to read better.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Even Lance became frustrated with my stupidity.”

  “We’ll have none of that. You’re not stupid, Kitty. Far from it.” He turned up the wick on the table lamp, then sat beside her and pressed the book into her hands. “You just need to take a different approach.”

  “How do you know what I need?”

  “I had a fellow school-mate who had a similar affliction. He trained himself to go slow and concentrate and was soon able to read as well as the rest of us students.”

  She licked her lips. “I tried that. But it doesn’t work for me.”

  “Have you truly tried?” He leaned closer, forcing his gaze away from those pouty, moistened lips. “From what I’ve seen, I suspect you rush into the task and then become frustrated when it doesn’t come to you as easily as everything else.”

  She glanced away, looki
ng guilty as charged.

  “Won’t you at least give it a try?”

  Myriad emotions played across her face—doubt, resentment, and finally resignation. “Very well. But I warn you, it won’t be pretty.”

  “Pretty isn’t necessary.” He reached out and opened the book. “Now go slowly. Take your time and concentrate.”

  She frowned and bent over, her slender shoulders pulled tight. Perspiration dotted her forehead. He hated seeing her so distressed, especially when he took such pleasure in reading.

  “What do you see when you look at the page?” he offered.

  “Just a jumble of letters.” She puckered her lips. “None of it makes any sense.”

  “See if tracing your finger under the words will help.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “Just try it.”

  She heaved a sigh and pressed a finger to the page. Only the tick of the mantel clock and Kitty’s rapid breaths broke the quiet. After a few minutes, she shifted uneasily and swiped her lips with quick stroke of her tongue. Fire shot into his groin. To have that lovely pink tongue caressing his own lips...

  “I’m sorry, Jack.” She lifted her head, cheeks and ears flaming. “I just can’t do it.”

  “Yes, you can. Concentrate.” Like I’m trying to do to keep from pouncing on you.

  “It’s not working...”

  “Giving up already?”

  Green eyes shot daggers at him. God, she was a beauty when riled. “Here, let me help you.” He reached across her, his chest brushing along her shoulder. “This first word has an h and an e.” He tapped a finger under each letter. “He. Can you see that?”

  She leaned away, breaking the contact between them. “I think so.”

  “And this next one.” He scooted his finger next to hers, letting them touch ever so slightly. “w-a-s.”

  “Was.” Her finger retreated. “And after that is an a.”

  “Good.” He couldn’t help himself and countered her move by spooning her hand with his. “What’s this one?”

  Her eyes went wide, and she sucked in a breath. His pulse quickened at the thought of his touch arousing her. “Think about what you’ve already read, and picture the next word.” Like I’m going to picture you—

  She shoved the book from her lap onto his. “I believe I’ll have some tea after all.” She gave a clearly contrived cough. “My throat is a little dry.”

  Hell. What was wrong with him? She was uncomfortable enough with the reading. He’d made it worse with his little parlor games. Before he could put her at ease, she was on her feet and making a rabbit-dash for the desk.

  The clink of china rang out, then came the soft gurgle of pouring tea. “I prefer honey with my tea,” she said in a strained voice. “Unfortunately, Sally was fresh out.”

  “Sorry to hear that. If we’re still stuck in town tomorrow, we’ll make a trip to the market and get you some.”

  “I hope that won’t be necessary.”

  “I hope not either.” He wanted to be on the way to Elmira as much as she did. He missed the intimacy of traveling alone with her, of being her protector and provider. It made him feel wanted—needed.

  She returned to the sofa with her tea, making sure no part of her body touched his as she sat. She took several sips, then supplied him with a reserved smile. “Much better.”

  “Good.” He propped the book on his knees where he wouldn’t be tempted to tease her. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

  Her soft grunt could’ve meant anything. He took it as acquiescence. “So, we’ve read ‘He was a’...” He pointed to the next word. “The one after that has five letters. See them?”

  “Yes. g-r-e...great.” She let out a frustrated breath. “I can read each letter by itself, but when I look at the whole word, it looks backwards.”

  “You’re doing fine. Try the next one. It has five letters as well.”

  She scrunched up her face and leaned closer. Her soft breaths caressed the back of his hand. “Is that a b or a d? I can never tell them apart.”

  “It’s a b.”

  Her mouth moved as she formed the letters. “b-l...Black.”

  “Good. Keep going.”

  “Lordy, another of those confusing letters. It’s a b, right?”

  “It is.” B as in softly rounded breasts...

  She leaned back, her expression wary. “Why are you doing this, Jack?”

  Gripes, did she read minds instead of books? “Doing what?”

  “Trying to help me read better.”

  Bullet dodged. “Because I want to. Reading is a big part of life, even for a woman.”

  “I’ve gotten by without it so far.”

  “Who read for you? Lance? Your father?”

  Her expression sank, and he patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m going to see to it you don’t need to rely on anyone else ever again.” His chest tightened. Not even me.

  “But you’ve helped me so much already. Getting me to Point Lookout. Bringing me here. Why would you want to put yourself through this torture?”

  The only torture was having her close and knowing it could go no further. “Helping you is no torture. I’m actually enjoying the challenge.”

  She lifted a dainty eyebrow. He wanted to kiss it back into submission.

  “Let me put it to you another way.” He leaned away from temptation. “You ride well and take pleasure in a rousing gallop. Am I right?”

  “Well...yes.”

  “So, if some affliction caused me to ride poorly, and I feared horses, wouldn’t you do all you could to help me find a solution?”

  “Like your eye? I didn’t notice you having any problems with Socks.”

  That hit a bit too close to home. Socks was well-trained for a reason. “It was just an analogy.”

  “A what?”

  “An illustration. An example to explain why I want to help you.”

  She fingered the handle of her teacup. “You’re just full up with those high-falutin words, aren’t you?”

  “You can learn them, too. Think of reading as a game of checkers. You have to think several steps ahead in order to beat your opponent.”

  She pushed a sigh past those luscious lips. “If only it was that easy.”

  “It can be, if you really want it. You have the drive, Kitty. I’ve been treated to it since our very first encounter. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

  Silence descended as she stared at him, her pale eyes revealing little of her thoughts. Damn. He’d done it again. Shoe leather was fast becoming his steadiest meal.

  The gong of the clock drew her gaze to the mantel. “It’s growing late. I should be getting to bed.” She rose and set her teacup on the end table. “I appreciate you helping me. It was very kind.”

  He stood and handed her the book. “Here, you keep this.”

  “I can’t accept it.”

  “Yes, you can. I want you to have it. You’ll be more likely to read if you’re interested in the subject.”

  “Your granddaddy—”

  “Would want you to have it as well. Keep practicing. Before you know it, you’ll be reading like a scholar and enjoying it.”

  “Don’t know about all that...” She clutched the book to her chest. “But I’ll do my best to practice like you said.”

  If only he could be that book. Pressed against her soft bosom. Accepted. Trusted. No longer shirked out of fear.

  Chapter Eleven

  People jammed the sidewalk, rushing through their morning chores as though wanting to be done before the broiling afternoon heat set in. Carts, wagons, and hacks filled the narrow street, adding to the noise and confusion. No wonder Papa hated city life. Her nerves were strung tighter than a banjo, and they’d only just started their stroll.

  She moved closer to Jack to avoid colliding with a passing couple. Her parasol tipped dangerously close to the gentleman’s head before she yanked it upright. Sally had lent her the contraption, insisting a lady di
dn’t venture outdoors without one. Who cared if the sun caused freckles? Papa had adored hers and called them her angel kisses. But she was in Jack’s society now and expected to follow their rules.

  An avenue of storefronts loomed ahead, their colorful awnings and busy window displays an eye-catching sight. Touring such new and fascinating places ought to have her giddier than a drunk with the keys to the tavern. Yet it didn’t. Troublesome thoughts kept her from enjoying their outing to the market.

  For one thing, the northbound trains continued to be at a standstill. Every minute spent in Maryland meant one less minute she had to save Lance.

  And then there was Jack.

  After a night of tossing and turning and being plagued by prickly thoughts, she’d come to a painful decision. Elias Porter was right to want to keep her away from his grandson. Not because of the money. She didn’t care beans about his money. Her worry was the heartache she was sure to bring Jack. He was starting to care for her, had even admitted so in the garden. If she were honest with herself, she was starting to care for him, too.

  And that couldn’t be. She and Jack were worlds apart, in class and smarts. There was no future for them. No matter how painful, she had to free him from his promise to help her.

  She could make it to Elmira on her own.

  She had to—for both their sakes.

  They rounded a corner and entered a less crowded and much quieter section of the city. Stately townhouses and tall oaks lined the street. Birds flitted through the treetops, one merry songstress piping out a cheerful melody from a branch overhead.

  Louisa tipped back her parasol and spotted a splash of orange and black in the greenery. “What a pretty bird.”

  “It’s an oriole. That one’s a male. Females are duller, more yellowish-gray.”

  “Hmmph,” she said, grateful for the distraction. “Unjust treatment, I say.”

  “You’ll be happy to know the males don’t get their brilliant plumage until their second year. They have to make due with drab coloring until then.”

  “Better, but still unfair.” Like a lot of things in life.

  “You can’t tinker with mother nature, Kitty.”

  “Funny, Lance used to say that.” She gave a sad sigh as the memories rushed in. “He’d sit in the meadow with his sketchbook on one knee, his pencil busy capturing nature on a blank page.”